TITLE: Poconos (1/7)
AUTHOR: Jess
EMAIL ADDRESS: snarkypup@hotmail.com
DISCLAIMER: If anyone is under the impression that these characters are
mine, they are seriously stupid.
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Anywhere, just let me know.
SPOILER WARNING: Oh, hell, up through season 6?
RATING: MA
CONTENT WARNING: Well, there's sex at the end, but I like to think
there's more content than that... but maybe not!
CLASSIFICATION: X-File, UST, MSR
SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully looking into a series of mysterious deaths
(do they ever do anything ELSE?) in that honeymoon capital of the world,
the Poconos.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: No, I have never been there. No, I have no idea how
those giant champagne glass things work, so don't berate me if I got it
wrong. And no, I don't hate Baptists. My mom was one. The song Mulder
hums is an old Appalachian folk song. I don't own it either.
After the awful "skeptic/septic" debacle, I just want to stress that I
love emails, but be gentle with me. I know not what I spell-check.
Stepping out of the shower at six-fifteen on a cloudy Wednesday morning,
Dana Scully was only mildly surprised to hear her doorbell ringing
frantically.
Give Mulder two more minutes, she thought, wrapping her towel around her
body tightly, and he'll use his key. She pictured his face when he
entered her apartment, gun drawn and trench coat flapping, to find her
wandering around in her undies with the towel curled turban-like around
her head.
It was almost worth it.
Sighing, she opened the door. Mulder paused mid-knock, his eyes widening
slightly.
"Nice suit, Scully. That new?"
He sauntered past her, not waiting for a reply. She was half-tempted to
drop the towel, just to get the reaction.
"What are you doing here, Mulder?"
"I came to fill you in on our latest case."
"At six a.m.? This couldn't wait another hour till I arrived at the
office?"
He smirked, giving the towel an appreciative glance.
"Clearly I ought to show up early more often."
"I wouldn't make it a habit, if I were you."
Leaving him standing at her living room window, she dressed in the
bedroom.
"What was so important that you had to come over, Mulder?"
"When I tell you, you'll be glad for my foresight."
"Right."
She slipped her shirt over her shoulders and emerged buttoning it.
Mulder grinned and stepped forward.
"Let me do that."
She batted his hand away and tucked the shirt in.
"Cut to the chase, Mulder."
"I came to help you pack appropriately, Scully."
Moving past him to the kitchen, she poured them each a glass of orange
juice. Mulder gulped his down in one long drink. For some reason she
could not explain, it was extremely annoying. She snatched the glass
back.
"Appropriately for what?"
He handed her a brochure. Glancing at it, she groaned. A bright red
title screamed: "The Poconos! Honeymoon Capital of the World!" while a
very Seventies couple toasted each other from seats in a candy-red
heart-shaped hot tub, clearly naked.
"Don't tell me, we're posing as a young married couple. You've already
picked the names, Mike and Carol Brady."
"Actually, Scully. We're posing as sex-mad swingers lookin' for a couple
'close friends'?" he began, leering.
"Why would that not surprise me?" she answered and pushed him away. "So
what was it so vital for me to pack, Mulder?"
"Your bathing suit, of course. We've got a cabin with a hot tub."
"Heart-shaped?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't ask. But it does have a revolving
bed."
"God, you're kidding." When it was clear he wasn't, she sighed. "So you
came all the way over here to tell me to pack my bikini?"
"You have a bikini? Things are? eh hem? looking UP."
"You could have just called, you know."
"I know," he smiled. "But then I wouldn't have seen you half-naked and
very wet."
She sighed and whacked him with the brochure.
Things were going well, Mulder thought. Very well. First there was the
unexpected pleasure of catching Scully just out of the shower and now,
in the plane, he had an entire row of seats to stretch out in with her
lap as his pillow. She hadn't even mentioned the fact that he'd only
booked one cabin. No lectures about Bureau regulations regarding agents
of the opposite sex, nothing. He contemplated rolling over and burrowing
into her like a ground squirrel, but decided it was much too early to
risk death. It was a short flight, and he wanted to make the most of it.
"Mulder," she said, stroking the hair back from his face. "Stop shifting
around."
He closed his eyes and relaxed. This was what he'd dreamed of when he
first made the reservations for this trip. Ok, so maybe there was an
x-file, maybe there wasn't. He didn't really care. All he wanted was a
little time with his partner, a chance to make amends for the last year,
for all his screw-ups with Diana and? well, with Diana. He turned his
head slightly and nuzzled her jeans just above the button. She slapped
at him.
"Stop that," she hissed.
"My nose itched."
"Right."
She had the tray down and was reading through the case file.
"Mulder," she said. "Have you actually looked at this?"
He opened his eyes, feeling her lean over slightly. He was looking
directly at the curve of her breasts.
"Not as much as I'd like to."
The answer clearly puzzled her, and she glanced down.
"Mulder, damn it?"
She pushed him up and away.
"You are completely impossible to work with sometimes," she said, but he
could tell she wasn't really angry. "I'm talking about the case file."
"I know," he said, stretching in the seat. "And yes, I have."
"So what exactly is the case we're investigating here, Mulder? I
expected slashing deaths of innocent young newlyweds or something
exciting and instead I'm getting? what?"
He leaned over the case file with her. "Gee Scully, you don't find it
odd that in a town of three hundred and twenty-four people, over eighty
have died in the last two years?"
"Yes, that is odd. But Mulder, these people died of every conceivable
thing? drowning, electrocution, heart attacks, even dog bites. How could
that possibly be related?"
He pointed to a note in the first page of the file.
"Look there, that's your key."
She read it and then rolled her eyes.
"So they're all members of the same church, Mulder, so what? So is
everyone in town, probably."
"So what, Scully? Doesn't that mean something?"
"Mulder, it's the First Baptist Church of Clement, Pennsylvania, not an
Elks lodge for the devil."
He smiled and leaned back in his seat.
"A nice Baptist church set up right in the middle of one of the greatest
zones of magnetic convergence known to humankind, Scully. Ripe with
possibilities for the paranormal, for mass suicides and burnings and?
things."
"Oh come on, Mulder. No one believes that the Earth's magnetic lines
have any real power over humans except whacked-out Los Angeles New
Agers. Bet you didn't even consider this, great profiler? over sixty
percent of this town is unemployed. Seems the tourism industry doesn't
have the need for rotating waterbeds that it once had. With all that
time on their hands, maybe the local townspeople have turned to religion
as a means of filling the void in their lives. And without jobs, people
are able to get into a lot more trouble."
"Ok, Scully, maybe you're right. So we go out there and there's no
connection. We hang out in a nice little cabin, do some hiking," he
leaned close to her, pretending to look down her sweater, and nearly
ruining the illusion when he actually got an eyeful, "skinny dip in the
local lakes? and come back to Washington rested and happy. Or there is a
connection, they're all rabid satanists, one of them captures you and
tries to cut off your head, I rescue you, we hang out in the cabin, do
some hiking, skinny dip and come back to Washington as heroes."
She raised that eyebrow he was so fond of.
"What's this about getting my head cut off, Mulder? I stopped listening
after you said 'skinny dipping.'"
The drive was pleasant in the early afternoon sunshine. Leaning back
into her seat, Scully watched the gently rolling countryside with a
sense of satisfaction. It was almost like being on vacation, she
thought. Except that she couldn't imagine ever going on vacation with
Mulder. He was humming in the seat next to her, tuneless and happy,
sucking on an ever-present sunflower seed.
Please God, she thought, if you love me even a little teeny bit, let
this be nothing at all. Let me have this one week to be with him without
weird liver-eating mutants or crazed cannibals.
"Penny for your thoughts," Mulder said suddenly.
Scully sighed. "I was just pondering the case. It's so? fascinating."
"Right," he said and she knew he didn't believe her, but wasn't going to
press. She wished briefly that he would.
They passed a sign reading "Welcome to Clement, the Happiest Place on
Earth" and Mulder crowed with delight.
"Do you think Walt knows about that?" he asked.
"Apparently not," she answered.
The town was tiny, barely a town at all, with a short main street
(appropriately named "Main Street", a fact Mulder took great happiness
in) and a few scattered turn-of-the-century houses giving way to farms.
They passed through, noted the Dairy Queen and The Country Bumpkin
Buffet and Lounge, and kept going toward the only large civic building:
The First Baptist Church of Clement.
Cars filled the parking lot, with people in black streaming solemnly
inside.
"Looks like a funeral, doesn't it, Scully?"
The entire town had to be there. She looked at Mulder and shrugged.
Just past the church, they found their turn-off and followed it along a
sweetly meandering brook to The Sleepy Hollow Inn. It looked safe enough
as they parked in front of the main office.
Stretching luxuriously, Mulder unfolded from the car and groaned with
what Scully knew was actually pleasure. Birds sang in the trees and she
could hear the gentle sound of the brook nearby. Maybe, she thought,
this is paradise. Maybe we're still stuck in that giant mushroom and now
we've actually died and this is my version of heaven. She turned to
Mulder to find him grinning at her. Yes, she thought, I might just be
that lucky.
Inside, the hotel proprietor seemed happy enough to see them. Mulder
leaned forward to read the man's name tag.
"Hey, Bill, how's it going?"
"It's all right," Bill drawled. "How're you 'n' the missus today?"
Mulder draped an arm around her shoulder, much to her annoyance. She
shrugged it off.
"Oh Bill," he said. "We're not married."
Bill's eyebrows rose a notch, then lowered again.
Scully pulled out her badge and flashed it.
"Agents Mulder and Scully with the FBI. Do you know what's going on
today at the First Baptist Church?"
"Y'all are FBI agents? That's not what I have down here. It says 'Mr.
and Mrs. Richard Head.'"
Scully turned to Mulder, glaring. Dick Head. How appropriate.
"We're undercover," Mulder said, leaning forward conspiritally. "You
understand."
"Wish I did," Scully murmured.
"Ah," Bill said, "sure y'are. But won't you be needing two cabins,
then?"
Mulder shook his head.
"Bill, it's all part of a complex centralized cost-cutting scheme
implemented by the Federal Bureau of Investigation in order to conserve
resources. All male/female agent teams pose as husband and wife so they
can share a room. Saves millions per annum."
Bill nodded. "Damn Democrats, if you ask me."
"Bill," Scully said. "The church?"
"Oh yeah. Right. It's a funeral, for Bob Cratched. His little scotty dog
fell into his septic tank. Bob followed him in, if you can picture it,
and they both drowned."
"My God," Mulder whispered. "The horror."
Scully sighed. This was going to be a long week.
"Smacks to me of satanic ritual sacrifice, don't you think so, Mulder?"
She crossed her arms and raised one eyebrow.
Both men stared. Mulder smiled slowly.
"I think my partner and I are ready to check in, Bob, if you'll point
the way?"
The cabin was everything he could have hoped. Appropriately cozy and
secluded, on the banks of the kind of little stream where the trout
practically leapt into your arms and begged to be beaten over the head
and grilled with lemon pepper. Scully seemed satisfied, dropping her
bags on the circular - God help him, it was circular! - bed and
stretching out on the velvet coverlet like a cat. He checked the
condition of the fold-out sleeper couch and was pleasantly surprised to
find it was already made up with crisp white sheets and a soft wool
Indian-stripe blanket.
Mulder was cautious. Things never went this well for him. Something
awful must be just around the corner.
He opened the bathroom door, half expecting to see cockroaches feasting
on a dead rat or something equally repulsive. Instead, he practically
knelt in supplication to what he beheld.
From the bedroom, Scully called out lazily.
"So Mulder, where's the hot tub?"
He swallowed and poked his head around the door.
"Scully, I think you better see this?"
Her answer held the tone she always used when he alarmed her:
half-worried, half-annoyed.
"What is it? Is there too much mold or something?"
She rounded the door and stopped, her jaw literally hanging open.
"My God, Mulder?" she said in a whisper. "What the hell is that?"
"That," he said, gesturing to the six foot tall acrylic champagne glass
in front of him, "is the hot tub."
"I've heard about them?" she said reverentially. "But I never thought
I'd actually see one. How do you get up there?"
"I don't know," he admitted, just before he tripped over the ladder. He
climbed up. Molded acrylic seats ringed the "cup" of the tub. He could
see jets for the bubbles and tubes and heating elements and a little
baggie of "Pink Champagne Bubble Bath" resting on the side? he could
hardly believe it.
"We must try this out tonight."
She was still looking up at it in awe. "People pay to do this?"
"Sure Scully, this was the Pokonos' claim to fame for years."
Shaking her head, she moved back into the bedroom.
"I think you must have planned this, Mulder. Admit it, there is no
x-file."
If only that were the complete truth.
"No really, Scully. I'm concerned for the good folks of Clement."
He found her lounging on the bed, thrown out across it. She was stroking
the velvet and practically purring.
"Having a good time, Agent?" he said, pleased as punch.
She looked up at him, her hair a little tousled and her eyeliner
slightly smudged.
"All it would take to complete this picture, Scully, is you in a
leopard-skin catsuit and a bottle of Champale."
For once, she actually giggled. "Sorry, Mulder, I left the catsuit at
home."
End part 1 of 7
TITLE: Poconos (2/7)
AUTHOR: Jess
EMAIL ADDRESS: snarkypup@hotmail.com
RATING: NC-17
Summary in Part One.
Email me, I spread them like peanut butter on apples and eat them all
up.
Scully would never have admitted it to him, but she was having a really,
really good time. With Mulder, she was usually filled with some
over-riding concern for his well-being because he was about to be eaten
by a giant fungus or mad wolfman or beautiful detective. Today, however,
they were strolling down the main street of Clement, Pennsylvania
without a single crazed maniac in sight. The sun was shining, her shorts
were on, and Mulder, God love him, was wearing those silly raybans that
made him look exactly like one of his "grays". She couldn't stop
grinning.
They were stopping at The Country Bumpkin Buffet and Lounge for, as
Mulder put it in the cabin, "some of that good ol' country pee-can pie."
Sitting opposite him, watching his nervous energy, listening to him
chatter about the "air ferns" in little planters on the table, Scully
was overwhelmed by affection for him. It didn't particularly matter to
her at that moment if he never got around to actually kissing her. It
didn't matter if he still loved Diana or Pheobe or Detective White or
anyone else she didn't know about. It didn't even matter if he one day
abandoned her for some elusive version of the Truth with a capital T. As
long as she could have a few memories of Mulder happy and chatty,
unconcerned with aliens and black cancer and his sister, she would be
eternally grateful to fate.
"What's up, Scully? You look dreamy."
She smiled and started to open up, but stopped as a young woman wearing
a black polyester dress approached them.
"Y'all the FBI agents?"
They both stared at her as if she were a Reticulan.
Scully recovered first.
"Yes," she said. "How on earth did you know that?"
"Oh," the girl said with a dismissive wave of her hand, "everybody knows
everything about everyone here."
Scully nodded. She was sure they did. If the girl had read her mind like
little Gibson, she wouldn't have been terribly surprised.
"I'm Special Agent Dana Scully and this is my partner, Fox Mulder. How
can we help you?"
The girl looked at Mulder and then motioned with her head. He opened his
mouth, shut it again and scooted over so she could sit next to him.
"Y'all here investigating the deaths, huh?"
Scully looked at Mulder meaningfully. Crazy locals were his specialty.
He was watching this one with a peculiar mixture of interest and
disdain.
"What makes you say that??"
"Sally."
"?Sally."
She nodded. "Oh, I figure there ain't nothin' else goin' on 'round here.
I told my daddy, they ain't here to sit in some giant champagne glass."
Scully swallowed convulsively. I must not laugh, she thought. I'm an FBI
agent. I must not laugh.
Mulder nodded thoughtfully. He never laughed at times like this.
"So, Sally. Do you have anything you'd like to tell us or were you just
curious?"
She smiled and leaned over the table.
"I know why people are dyin'."
Mulder nodded, encouraging.
"Everyone's so bored," the girl pronounced, triumphant.
Scully sighed and raised the "I told you so" eyebrow at Mulder.
"Really? Who's bored?" Mulder said just as the waitress brought over
their pie.
"Sally," the waitress scolded. "Leave the FBI in peace to eat their pie,
will ya? They'll be here for a whole week. I'm sure you can talk to them
later. Scoot."
The girl pouted, but slid out of the seat to return to her family.
"Thanks," Mulder said.
"Oh that's nothin'," the waitress, whose nametag read "Sherri" with a
little heart dotting the i, replied. "If y'all want to get any real
information, you can talk to me. Doesn't nothin' happen in this town
that don't come through The Country Bumpkin."
That was it. Scully excused herself just in time to make it to the
bathroom and burst with laughter. She knew Mulder would be angry, but it
didn't matter. There was only so much of the absurd one small woman
could take.
If he didn't get her into her bikini by the end of the day, Mulder
mused, he would no longer be able to call himself a man.
Scully was unpacking carefully, hanging her clothes up in the cabin's
only closet. He, of course, had only a couple t-shirts and some jeans
packed. That and four different porno mags and one particularly choice
video, just in case. He was watching for the bikini like a man waiting
for evidence of the Rapture.
"Mulder," she said. "I wish you wouldn't sit there and stare at me. It's
completely unnerving."
"I'm not staring," he told her, looking longingly at her neatly folded
blue silk pajamas. No, I'm gazing, Scully.
"If you're bored, you could check out the path to the lake. I was
thinking we could go hang out on the dock, eat leftover pie and watch
the sunset."
Something in his throat constricted. It sounded so? nice.
"Yes, Ma'am."
He hadn't felt so relaxed and comfortable around her in a very long
time. It was as if everything they had held between them was no more
substantial than a membrane. One gentle push would send him tumbling
through.
The path to the lake was clear and broad, lined like a leafy tube. He
felt he might be passing into another world. I must not, he thought
sternly, screw this up by being an ass.
The rich brown earth of the path gave way to narrow wooden boards of a
small boat dock. Around him the lake spread out as if someone had opened
up the earth and let the sky through. He had never seen water so
perfectly blue. Standing on the very edge of the dock, toes practically
tipping over, Fox Mulder gave one long throaty yell of triumph.
A rustling sound startled him; something passing through the leaves.
Turning quickly, he half expected to see a prehistoric beast, instead of
a skinny man holding a fishing pole.
"Well," the man said. "You must be Mr. Muldoon of the FBI."
Mulder sighed. Why did everyone in this town have a sudden need for the
Bureau?
"Agent Mulder," he said, stepping politely forward. "And you are?"
"Pissed the hell off, that's what I am."
Mulder couldn't begin to imagine a response to that.
"Look," the skinny man said. "I know you folks mean well. But we're
happy here, all right? Things are lookin' up for us in a way they
haven't been in a damn long time. We don't need the damned FBI poking
their noses into things they don't understand."
Mulder smiled.
"Sir, I guarantee you that Agent Scully and I will keep our noses where
they belong."
The skinny man looked Mulder up and down for a moment and seemed to find
him lacking in some respect.
"You don't dress like a g-man."
"I'm undercover."
The skinny man snorted.
"Like hell you are. You're takin' a vacation on the taxpayer's money, is
what you're doing."
Mulder stared, unable to find an appropriate response that wasn't
completely insulting. He wished Scully were there for this one.
"Well, I don't care what you two get up to, as long as you get the hell
out at the end of your week and don't come back."
"I certainly will keep that option in mind."
"You do that," the skinny man said, expelling copious amounts of phlegm
at Mulder's feet.
"Look," Mulder said, getting truly annoyed for the first time that day.
"If you folks aren't up to anything, there won't be anything to find.
Now if you don't mind, I'm about to spend a lovely summer evening eating
pie bought with the taxpayers' money on the taxpayers' dock at the
taxpayers' lake in the taxpayers' national park, all right? And if I
happen to get lucky tonight, I'll try and find a way to stick that to
the taxpayers, too."
The skinny man snorted. "Typical."
"How's the lake?" Scully asked as Mulder pushed open the front door. She
was stretched out on the couch, her feet dangling over the arm. A cool
breeze snaked in through the screen door and tickled her toes
pleasantly. Mulder, on the other hand, looked flustered. Already, she
thought.
"Crowded," Mulder said.
"Really?" she asked. "Should we go somewhere else?"
He sighed. "No. I just ran into another friendly local." He flopped down
next to her on the couch. "Comfy, Scully?"
"Mulder, don't you think it's odd that we're already the center of
attention here?"
"Very," he said and pulled her over so that her head rested on his lap.
She allowed it, ignoring the violation of protocol. Hell, she thought,
just being in the same room with him was breaking every fraternization
rule in the book. He stroked her hair absently.
"I mean," she told him, "if they're not doing anything suspicious, why
are they going so far out of their way to talk to us?"
"Exactly."
He looked down at her and placed one hand gently on her stomach, barely
touching her through the cloth of her shirt as if he were afraid she
would bolt.
For a long moment they lay still, then she gently pushed his hand away
and sat up, re-erecting the barrier.
"You know what, Mulder? The Bureau owes us. How many times have we
driven for hours just to find out that the case was nothing, or worse
than nothing - something really unpleasant and dangerous, with no
meaning whatsoever? I just want one week. One week with nothing trying
to slit my throat or cook me or insert itself under my skin or?"
He was laughing.
"I'm serious."
He smiled at her, but it wasn't just mirth. Something else hovered
there. She felt like blushing.
"Get your pie, Mulder, and a fork. The sun should be setting soon."
Mulder watched as Scully stepped gingerly into the cool water of the
lake. Those little feet, he marveled. How could such a powerful woman
have such tiny feet? It was as much a mystery to him as the fact that
sensible, steady Scully had a tattoo. Or that she owned blue rubber
thong sandals with big plastic daisies on them. Or, if he was really to
ponder mysteries, that she was here at all.
The sun sent shimmering flashes along the underside of Scully's chin and
the bright edges of her hair. She brushed it back behind her ear and
bent down to retrieve a rock from the water. When she stood back up, she
seemed to emerge into a halo of light. He was reminded of something,
watching her.
"She walked through the corn leading down to the river,
Her hair shown like gold in the hot morning sun.
She took all the love that a poor boy could give her,
And left me to die like a fox on the run?"
Scully looked up and smiled, puzzled.
"Mulder, was that you singing?"
"It was."
"You have a lovely voice. Sing it again."
He obliged and she gazed at him as if he had suddenly revealed to her
that he was also a billionaire.
"Keep going," she said.
He smiled. "Not unless you'll join me in a rousing chorus of 'Jeremiah
Was a Bullfrog."
"No way in hell. What were you singing?"
"Just something my mother used to sing to me as a lullaby."
She climbed up onto the dock and sat down next to him, hanging her feet
over the edge. He could trail his toes in the water; she kicked in empty
space, girlish.
"Mulder, I maintain your mother was highly disturbed. That doesn't sound
like a child's song at all."
"It wasn't. She never cared, as long as it had the word 'fox' in it. She
once sang me to sleep with
several choruses of 'Foxy Lady.'"
"So who is she, Mulder, this woman who left you die?"
He grinned at her.
"I don't know. Just some beautiful red-head."
"I thought you said 'her hair shown like gold'."
"I does, if you're red-green colorblind."
She laughed and leaned back, closing her eyes in the warm light.
"I've never left you to die," she said. "In fact, I believe I've saved
your ass on more than one occasion."
"Even when I didn't entirely deserve it," he said and she looked quickly
at him, puzzled by the change in tone.
She opened her mouth to say something, but the sound of footsteps
stopped her.
"Excuse me, Agent Scully? Agent Mulder?"
Scully looked over at him and he was sure he was reading her mind. Run,
it said.
"Yes?" he said slowly, turning to see who had spoken.
A middle-aged woman stood shyly on the path behind them, wringing her
hands together as if she didn't entirely like her errand.
"I.. um? my name is Anne Hastings. I'm the Neighborhood Watch
chairperson. I thought you two might like to know there's been another
death."
Mulder sighed. This was getting scary.
"Who died?" he said, not bothering to be the polite agent in his
cut-offs and bare feet.
She smiled and twisted the edge of her shirt in her hands.
"Mr. McGillicudy from across the lake. He climbed up on his roof last
week to watch for meteors and had a heart attack. They didn't find him
till this morning."
Scully winced, half-smiling.
"That doesn't exactly sound like you need the FBI," she said.
"Well, you are here to investigate the deaths, right?"
She sighed. "We haven't discussed our agenda here with anyone locally."
The woman nodded and smiled. "Right. The funeral's tomorrow at eleven.
You might want to be there, if you really want to know what this is all
about."
The woman nodded goodbye and slipped nervously back down the path.
Scully watched her go and then turned to him.
"Why on earth does everyone assume we care? We haven't asked a single
question. We haven't interviewed anyone. And why was she so nervous?
Mulder, if I didn't know better, I'd say these folks were up to some
serious no good."
Mulder kicked a little lake water onto Scully's legs. She squeaked.
"You know what, Scully? Tonight, I just don't give a shit. Tomorrow,
we'll go to the funeral, we'll interview the mourners, we'll build a
profile and take down the villainous masterminds behind? whatever the
hell they're behind, but tonight I intend to finish my pie and then go
back to our cabin, watch a movie, maybe snuggle up with you on the couch
and then fire up the champagne bubble bath."
She raised one eyebrow.
"You're being awfully presumptuous. I haven't said anything about
snuggling or bubble baths. In fact, Special Agent Mulder, I do believe
that if AD Skinner were to get even the slightest whiff of either of
those activities, your ass would be grass indeed."
He made an effort to look really disappointed.
"Ah come on, Scully. I even brought a special video for the occasion.
What do you think Skinner would think of that?"
She turned bright pink.
"Agent Scully, are you blushing? Or did you forget your sunscreen?"
"One of those videos you don't own, Mulder?"
"Yep."
"What would you actually do if I said yes?"
He thought about it for a moment and then looked up to find her smiling
at him.
"Agent Mulder, are you blushing?"
"Never."
She laughed and lay back along the dock, resting her head on her arm.
"Mulder, did you really drag a porn video all the way out here?"
"Of course not, Scully. I'm not that desperate."
Now he really was blushing. Thank God for the setting sun.
end Part 2 of 7
TITLE: Poconos (3/7)
AUTHOR: Jess
EMAIL ADDRESS: snarkypup@hotmail.com
RATING: NC-17
Summary in Part One.
Emails are saved and cuddled like teddy bears.
Scully reached one arm lazily out and grabbed another handful of popcorn
from the bowl on the coffee table. She had managed to talk Mulder into
watching bad late-night TV, rather than the stuff he'd wanted to watch,
namely: horrible sci-fi B movies involving bulbous-headed alien women.
Or that mysterious video, whose possible existence tantalized her. She
had nothing against a little porn, though she'd never have told him
that. Let him think she was frigid. It made him try harder.
"You're hogging the couch, agent."
She wiggled closer and dug her elbow into his ribs. He jumped.
"God, and I wanted to do this."
"Stop grousing."
She turned and settled with her back against the arm of the couch. Idly
she wondered if there was a rule against pressing her feet up against
the warm bare thigh of her partner and decided she hadn't read it
anywhere, so there must not be. Mulder let one languid hand fall onto
her ankle and squeezed. Somewhere buried beneath the day's accumulation
of sunlight and warm pecan pie, she felt a little warning jab from her
conscience. She extended one foot onto Mulder's lap, effectively
crushing her conscience beneath her heal. Mulder eyed her foot for a
moment and then turned to her, questioning.
"Are you looking for something, Scully?"
"A little foot-action, Mulder," she purred.
She felt him shift slightly in surprise. You're pushing it, Dana, her
conscience whispered. You're writin' checks your body can't cash, it
said in a deep male voice.
That thought set her to giggling, just as Mulder gave one experimental
sweep of his thumb up the arch of her foot.
"Ticklish, Scully?"
She shook her head, still giggling.
"Could've fooled me."
She swallowed as he dug his fingers into her skin and began the massage
in earnest. I will not groan, she told the conscience.
"Feel good?"
His voice was dark and a little smoky.
She nodded and leaned back, closing her eyes.
You're in way, way over your head, the conscience whispered.
Shut up, she told it, I can't hear my heart pounding.
Mulder moved to her other foot and ground his knuckles into the center
of the arch.
"You're going to owe me, you know." The tone was intimate, as if he were
whispering in her ear.
"Owe you what?" she answered, not opening her eyes.
"I haven't decided yet," he said. "I'll let you know when I see it." And
then he placed both hands on her calves and kneaded.
That opened her eyes, wide, to find him staring at her with a lust so
barely controlled she had to consciously shut her mouth to keep from
gaping.
"Mulder," she whispered, suddenly deeply nervous. "It was just a foot
massage. I'm not letting you hold me to just anything."
He leaned back into the couch, smiling to himself.
"I didn't have 'just anything' in mind."
She drew her feet up protectively.
"Mulder?" she used her you're-crossing-that-line tone.
He sighed and Scully could practically feel the disappointment set in.
What she couldn't figure out, what hung between them whenever they got
close to each other, was why exactly they weren't lovers. She had no
reference point for it anymore. Once she could have placed it, saying:
ah, we're partners and regulations forbid it. But they had broken every
regulation known to exist in the Bureau handbook except that one, so
that didn't work. Or: he's too damaged and crazy. But now, so was she.
Perhaps at one time she would have said: He loves someone else. But she
knew that wasn't true. He might still be attracted to other women, but
if he was tempted, it was only because she wasn't available. The only
thing she could come up with now was that neither one wanted to be the
first to actually give in.
It was an endless game of chicken, and she was ready to just lie down in
the road and let him run right over her.
But not tonight, she thought ruefully. And maybe that was it. It was
never tonight.
Mulder stretched and caught her eye.
"So what now, Scully? You ready for a dip?"
It took her a moment, but when she realized what he was saying, the
thought of Mulder in a bathing suit sitting opposite her was just too
much.
"Not tonight," she said. "I'm too tired. Besides, we have to save some
pleasures for day two."
Mulder pulled out the hide-a-bed and lay down on top of the wool
blanket. The cabin was dark, though he could still hear Scully puttering
around in the bathroom and see the shaft of light from underneath the
door. He was quietly miserable, as he often was when she was getting
ready for bed. In some ways their lives had become as interconnected as
a married couple. He knew her routines, her little patterns. But in the
end, she would step out of the door wearing her furry bathrobe over her
pajamas and slip quietly into the bedroom, wishing him goodnight from as
far away as Antarctica had ever been. He sighed and rolled away from the
bathroom door to watch the night's shadows in the trees outside.
He heard the door open and her soft footfalls as she crossed the carpet.
"Goodnight, Mulder."
Her voice was a whisper, in case he was asleep. In case. As if he ever
was. He didn't answer right away and heard her open the bedroom door and
hesitate there.
"Goodnight, Scully."
She moved again, closing the door behind her.
For a long moment he lay in the silence. He should be thinking about the
case, about his work. But he was thinking about the way the wind moved
the branches of the tree closest to him, about the soft sound of the
clock ticking in the bedroom, of the way her small feet had felt tucked
under his leg.
Then there was a soft whirring sound, growing slowly louder until he was
aware of a motor running in Scully's room. He sat up. What on earth was
she doing?
Just as he rose to find out, the door opened, flooding the room with
light. Scully, looking slightly disheveled but still wrapped up in her
robe, smiled weakly from the threshold.
"Mulder," she said. "The bed's spinning and I can't get it to stop."
He couldn't help himself and started laughing.
"I'll come take a look."
He passed close to her, feeling the warmth of her skin from a foot away.
"I just laid down and started to go to sleep and it started up on it's
own," she told him. "I think it must have a short in it."
Must indeed, he thought, watching the bed whirl around at an amazing
speed.
"I'll crawl over there and turn it off," he said, and scrambled up.
He made one movement before he felt the blankets begin to slide. The bed
was spinning well beyond its designed speed now, and he grasped madly at
the headboard as it swung by. Missing, he gave a little cry of surprise
as he flew off, landing in a heap in one corner of the room.
Looking up, he found Scully strangling her laughter without great
success.
"My God, Mulder," she gasped. "That was hysterical."
He rubbed his knee and found himself smiling back at her, grinning even.
"Come on, Scully, I've got a couch built for two."
Her eyes widened and he could sense her discomfort. Irritation sunk in.
"For God's sake, Scully?" he began.
"It's all right, Mulder. I just hadn't thought about that."
He ushered her out of the bedroom, shutting the door against the
whirring motors.
"I hope it doesn't spark and catch fire?" she said, glancing back.
He pulled back the blanket and slid in.
"Don't worry about it. Come to bed."
Standing at the end of the mattress, she smiled.
"I think you planned this. I think, somehow, you set this up."
He sighed.
"If I really wanted to get you into bed, Scully, I think I could come up
with something better than that."
She raised one eyebrow, her face pale in the light from the open window.
Then she took off her robe.
He was used to the blue silk pajamas. He was even accustomed to the
white ones, which were nearly see-through. But nothing had prepared him
for the fact that she might not wear actual pajamas tonight. That she
might wear this little spaghetti-strapped slip of a silk thing in a
shade of dark purple that was nearly blue. He couldn't take his eyes off
her.
"Mulder," she said, crawling up the bed toward him. "Stop that."
He could see more cleavage in that moment than he had ever been
privileged to in his life. He was instantly, unbearably turned-on.
"Stop what," he whispered.
"Staring."
"I'm not staring," he told her, "I'm ogling. There's a difference."
She peeled back the blanket and slid in a good two feet away from him.
He could have wept when she pulled up the sheets and covered that? thing
she was wearing.
"Well, stop ogling and go to sleep. You'd think you'd never seen a
nightie before."
He lay back and stared at the ceiling, fighting every nerve to keep from
rolling over and pinning her to the mattress with his entire body.
Just as he heard her breathing slow, he whispered.
"No, Scully, I've just never seen you in a nightie before."
He felt her jerk awake and smiled to himself. All was fairly met, he
thought, and closed his eyes.
Mornings were not Mulder's forte. But somehow, waking to find his arms
wound tightly around his sleeping partner, her warm body moving beneath
his with each breath, he thought they were something he could come to
like. Afraid to breathe too hard in case he should wake her, he lay
perfectly still, absorbing every place their skin touched in his mind
like a map to her.
"Mmm," Scully groaned softly and moved closer, flopping one arm over his
neck. Her small face was just inches from his own, and he could smell
the awful yet delicious scent of her breath mingling with his own.
Unable to resist, he gently stroked her soft hair away from her face.
She smiled in her sleep and burrowed in, her nose resting just below his
own, her lips against his chin. My God, Mulder thought, I will now die a
happy man.
With a restless answering snort, she rolled away and then pushed back
against him, her body curled into his. Like baby cats, he thought, and
tightened his grip around her, sliding his hand under the edge of the
silk to rest it against the hot skin of her stomach. Her nightgown had
ridden up, and only their underwear now stood between them. Almost
unable to resist a thrust, he held his hips away so she wouldn't wake to
feel his erection pressing against her ass.
"Mulder?" she murmured.
"Yeah, sleepy-head, it's the one and only."
She sighed and for a moment, relaxed into his arms. Could it be, he
thought? Would she let him hold her? But no, her body suddenly tensed
and she practically bolted out of the bed.
Looking gorgeously flustered, she stared at him, pulling down the
nightie.
"Mind if I shower first?" she said, back in possession.
"Go ahead," he answered, smiling at her. "You're a little stinky this
morning."
Her mouth opened and then shut. She smirked.
"Well at least I won't have to worry about leaving you any hot water,"
she said. "You'll definitely want this shower turned to 'cold'."
Before he could recover from the shock of hearing her actually come-on
to him, she was gone behind the bathroom door. Mulder leaned back in bed
and watched the blankets rise conspicuously at his hips. Yeah, he
thought, cold shower indeed.
The small white bungalow was clearly not going to be white for long.
Buzzing around it like so many workers in a hive, the good folks of
Clement were painting the widow Cratched's house sky blue. Scully
stepped out of the air-conditioned car and nearly stepped right back in
as the wall of heat hit her body. It was going to be a very long day.
As she and Mulder made their way up a short cement sidewalk, folks - and
she couldn't think of them any other way - parted and let them through
as if they bore the plague.
The door opened and a large young woman smiled at them, her face blotchy
with recent tears.
"Mrs. Cratched?" Mulder asked, flashing his badge.
"Yes, come on in. We've been expecting you."
Scully glanced up at her partner, but found his face unreadable. After
this morning, she thought ruefully, maybe that was good thing.
Inside the little house, the air conditioning chugged merrily around at
least twenty women, all dressed in dark cotton sundresses and all a bit
overweight in the way that only too much delicious fried food can
create. They looked at her as if she were an alien, creeping wasp-like
into their cozy circle.
"Well, hello, Mr. and Mrs. FBI," one woman said, eyeing them both.
"Hello right back at you," Mulder said, his voice playful and yet
strained at the same time. "I'm Agent Fox Mulder and this is my partner,
Agent Dana Scully. We're here investigating?"
"The deaths," six women said in unison.
"That's right," Scully replied, accepting a proffered chair. "We just
wanted to hear about what happened to Bob."
"Oh," Mrs. Cratched sighed miserably. "He loved that little scotty dog
so much?"
Mulder had come to stand behind her and she could feel the warmth of him
against her back. Just like this morning, she thought, a pleasant twinge
tickling her stomach.
"He followed it into the septic tank, isn't that correct?"
"Yes," Mrs. Cratched nodded. "He had opened it up to unclog it, you
know? We were having problems. Anyway, I guess Scottie must have
wandered over to sniff at it, and she fell in. Bob, being the kinda guy
he was, just went right in after her. But then of course, they couldn't
get back out. We found him nearly five hours later, his arms still
wrapped around the poor dog. I guess he just got too tired and couldn't
stand up anymore."
Mulder sighed. "Did Bob have any enemies, you can think of, Mrs.
Cratched? Was there anyone who might have hurt him?"
She smiled. "Well sure, practically the whole town."
Scully started and crossed her legs the other way to hide it.
"Are you saying your husband was unpopular, Mrs. Cratched?"
"Oh sure. Bob wasn't exactly well-liked. He could be?" she hesitated and
another woman finished for her.
"Bob was an ass, if you must know. A wife-beating, dog-loving, stupid
sonova bitch."
Scully swallowed.
"Then there is the possibility that this could have been murder?"
"Oh no," Mrs. Cratched replied. "You see, at least three people, myself
included, saw Bob jump into the tank."
Mulder stirred behind her and she felt one hand brush the back of her
neck.
"And you just left him there?"
"Well, not exactly. You see, I thought he'd gotten out. He usually stays
out there all day, working. And I didn't hear anything. It wasn't until
he didn't come in for dinner that I started to worry."
For a long moment everyone was quiet.
"Would either of you like something to eat?" Mrs. Cratched said
suddenly. "I've got more food that I could ever eat in a lifetime." She
motioned to the kitchen behind them. Scully turned to see the entire
table, every counter, even the top of the refrigerator, covered in
dishes of food.
"Very neighborly display," Mulder said.
"We take care of our own," a woman in the back said warmly. "Carmen
won't lack for anything as long as we're here."
"No," Mulder said softly, and Scully recognized the thoughtful tone,
"I'm sure she won't."
End part 3 of 7
TITLE: Poconos (4/7)
AUTHOR: Jess
EMAIL ADDRESS: snarkypup@hotmail.com
RATING: NC-17
Summary in Part One.
Feedback makes me all mushy inside.
Sitting in the car at the town's lone stoplight, air blasting, Mulder
chewed a sunflower seed and stared at the heat mirages in the road
ahead.
Scully had taken her jacket off, and was now smoothing her hair by
licking her index and middle finger and then dragging them down a few
strands at a time. It was driving him mad.
"Scully?" he asked suddenly. "Do you believe that if you want something
bad enough, it'll happen?"
She glanced over at him, pausing with one hand still tangled in her
hair.
"You mean, for instance, if I'm Carmen Cratched and my husband beats me
and maybe I wish he would just die? and then he does, is it partly
because I wanted it so badly?"
"Exactly."
"Nope. Don't believe that."
"Of course not," Mulder said with a grin. "Why would you? It just makes
sense."
She glared, but not too deeply. "What to hear what I think happened?"
He nodded, fascinated by her busy fingers.
"I think mean old Bob Cratched fell into his septic tank with three
people watching, but because the man was, to coin a phrase 'a
wife-beating, dog-loving, stupid sonova bitch', no one raised a hand to
help him. Put it this way, Mulder. If you fell into a septic tank, I
would at least wander over to see if you were ok."
"Gee, Scully, I'm touched."
She smiled, and then began finger-combing the hair. Suddenly he was
picturing doing the same thing to her as she slid slowly down his body?
he stepped on the accelerator and aimed for the motel.
"So Mulder, if you could have anything you wanted, what would it be?"
He felt his entire body go limp.
"Anything?"
Pondering it for a moment, she shook her head.
"No, I guess? it has to be selfish. Something for you, you know? Not
anything for Samantha or your dad or world peace. Something I would
never be able to guess at."
She leaned back and looked carefully at him.
"Will you have to answer this too?" he asked.
"Absolutely. I'll even answer it first, if you like."
He nodded wildly. "I like."
"Ok, Mulder. If I could have anything I wanted? let's see? I guess I'd
just want to be happy."
He felt as if the bottom had dropped out of his world.
"You aren't now?"
She smiled at him, not entirely seeing his suffering. If Scully wasn't
happy? God, it didn't even bear thinking about how deeply that hurt.
"Of course I am, in a way, Mulder. But I'm not totally fulfilled, if you
see what I mean. I guess I'd like to settle down a bit, maybe not today
but sometime, with the man I love? have kids? or adopt them, whatever.
Have a dog. Maybe two dogs. You know? stop chasing mutants. Stop
worrying about alien abductions and cancer man and just have a garden
and maybe a chicken or two?"
Scully had never, ever expressed a desire for a "chicken or two" to him.
Of course, he thought miserably, he'd never actually asked her.
"So you'd want to quit the x-files," he said, unable to mask the anguish
in his voice.
She laughed softly.
"Oh, Mulder. I said someday. I'd just like to believe that my life isn't
going to end one day in an alien ship or a tube of green goo or even
lying on the pavement with a bullet in my heart. I'd like to think I
could end up dying of old age in my bed."
"You're never going to die, remember?" He said it fiercely, with
passion. He meant it.
"Mulder..." She grabbed his hand and kissed it; a chaste little kiss
that made his head pound. "Now it's your turn. If you could have
anything, what would it be? Honestly."
God, to honestly answer that? he thought, why not? What harm could it
do?
"I would want you to never, ever have even the smallest chicken."
She looked stunned.
"I'm not sure whether to smack you or be flattered. What have you got
against chickens?"
"It's supposed to be a selfish wish, right? So there it is. I wouldn't
want to lose you to a garden and some uber-husband and little kids and
dogs and? God, I'm a complete fuck, aren't I?"
"Mulder?" she stilled him by squeezing his hand. "It's just a little
fantasy, ok? I'm not leaving for the country life anytime soon. Besides,
you might like chickens, if you gave them half a chance."
And just what, he thought, did she mean by that?
The church was completely packed. Scully fanned her face sleepily with a
program, the slight breeze barely enough to keep her from passing out.
There were times when being an elegantly dressed g-woman really stank,
in more ways than one. As long as she didn't have to take her jacket
off, she reasoned, she'd be fine.
Next to her, Mulder sat with his elbows on his knees, examining his
hands as if they were the most fascinating things he'd ever seen. She
could feel the boredom coming off him in hot little waves.
"Mulder," she whispered, "when do you think this thing is going to
start?"
"Never," he moaned softly. "This is hell. We're still in that fucking
mushroom and this is hell."
That would make waking up that morning to find him practically
smothering her a hallucination, and she was pretty sure she didn't want
it to be. It had been damn nice to be possessively snuggled, even if she
was supposed to be asleep and completely unaware.
"Wait," she said. "Someone's doing something."
A thin woman in sweat-stained black wool, was being escorted down the
aisle by two grim older men. She took her seat in the front row,
sniffling and nodding to those around her.
"That's gotta be Mrs. McGillicudy. Now maybe we can get this show on the
road," Mulder murmured.
"Shhh." Scully watched one of the grim men ascend to the podium and bow
his head.
"Ladies and Gentlemen?and?" he hesitated and looked right at her,
"visitors? please join us in saying a prayer for the departed."
The men and women around them stood and supported one another gently.
"Lord, you have seen fit to take another fine man from the bosom of his
family and friends. We do not pretend to know the reasons behind your
actions? we are not worthy of explanation. We can only come together in
this, your house, to offer comfort as best we know how to those who are
bereaved. When, as is the case with every death in this community, we
are all the bereaved, we must gather our strength, rely on each other
for comfort, and move bravely on, knowing the good soul of the departed
lives on with you in heaven. Hear our prayer, Lord, and grant us the
ability to be the rock on which the good widow McGillicudy and her
family depend in this time of sorrow."
The church murmured their Amens and everyone sat back down.
Scully looked around at the bereaved parishioners and was struck by how?
well, pleased many of them looked. They didn't seem like a community
united in sorrow, and yet here everyone was, dressed in black and
sweltering in the standing-room only church.
Another man, obviously a friend, stood up and walked to the podium. The
reverend smiled and nodded to him.
"Mr. Jim Barrons will give the Eulogy."
Jim Barrons was a big man, and he labored up the steps in the heat.
Mulder's eyes were glassy and unfocused. He was obviously one step away
from simply sliding down under the pews like jelly.
"I didn't know Albert McGillicudy all that well?" Mr. Barrons began, and
Scully looked up in surprise, "? I don't think most of us did. But what
we did know is that he was a kind and gentle man, with a good heart, who
provided for his family. He liked to look to the stars, too, though I
don't think we'll ever really know why. Maybe it was appropriate that he
died stargazing, doing what he loved. Anyway, I know you will all do
your best for his widow, Sarah. We, as a community, have a
responsibility to those who lose someone, and I believe you will all do
the utmost to see her stay here is as comfortable as possible. Thank
you."
Mulder was also watching the speaker, and he turned to her as the man
stepped slowly down from the stage.
"What did he mean, 'her stay here'? Doesn't his wife live with him?"
Scully leaned over, conscious that others were watching.
"That explains why it took so long to find the body."
Mrs. McGillicudy was making her way up to the stage as someone behind
them whispered "hush, the widow."
"My name is Sarah McGillicudy. I know you don't know me, and since my
husband recently moved here after the separation, I suppose you didn't
know him well either. But I want you to know, Albert was a good man.
Just because he and I? well, it's not important. He always tried to do
his best for all his friends, and I'm sure he would be touched to see
all of you here today. I know you have been an invaluable support to me
now, and I thank you for it. I only hope your community is spared any
more need to comfort the living."
As she was gently escorted back to her pew, Mulder leaned carefully over
and whispered in Scully's ear "this is damn weird, doncha think?"
She nodded. Why would the entire town turn out for the funeral of a man
they hardly knew? Why would they go out of their way to help a woman
they'd never met? She knew people must be bored, but it simply didn't
explain this level of "community". Shuddering slightly, she realized
that the people of Clement, Pennsylvania gave her the creeps. They were
just a little too helpful.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, if no one has anything further to say regarding
poor Albert, I would like to say a few words to the congregation as a
whole and then we can convene to the wake."
A contented hum rose from the pews as people prepared to leave.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, please," the preacher called. "This is serious
business."
The noise stopped.
"We are all familiar with God's edict to turn the other cheek. Heck,
most of us live with it every day. When someone, perhaps someone who
doesn't know us well, interferes in our life, causes us pain, we are
told by God that we must not act in our own defense. The will of the
Lord in this case is great, saving us from anger with our neighbors or
friends over trivial arguments and mistakes."
The congregation nodded in unison, looking to each other to affirm the
preacher's words.
"But what is the word of the Lord when the attackers turn to the House
of God himself? What are we called upon to do when the threat is not
upon ourselves, but to our beloved church? I ask you, parishioners of
this holy community, what are we to do?"
Mulder poked Scully in the ribs. "Think he's talking about us?" he
whispered. She glared.
"I tell you now, people of this House, God is not so forgiving of those
who seek to destroy his places of worship, no no. He calls for
vengeance, for strife upon them. I say this, not to incite you to
violence?"
"Oh no," Mulder murmured sarcastically.
"?But to remind you to be vigilant, to protect what is ours from those
who would harm it. To take into your own lives, into your own hands, the
salvation of the Church on which we have all come to depend so greatly.
This is a time for extra care in how we talk to strangers, to those who
don't understand the importance of the church in our lives. I issue a
warning to the men and women of this parish: protect this church, or
lose what makes our lives complete in these dark times?." The minister
clapped his hands, making Scully jump. "Now, let's go celebrate the life
of Mr. Albert McGillicudy."
If the funeral had been strange, the wake was even stranger. She and
Mulder stood to one side, watching the festivities like wallflowers at a
school dance. The entire town mingled, drank, danced and toasted Albert
McGillicudy several times, generally making merry. The widow McGillicudy
sat on a raised platform like the bride at a wedding, and in truth, that
was closer to the tone of the occasion. Mulder glanced at Scully and
found his partner sweaty and annoyed. She obviously disapproved.
Truthfully, he didn't find the idea to be all that sinister. That folks
would celebrate someone's life appealed to him. He could only hope if he
were to die, his family and friends would gather and allow themselves to
get very, very drunk. Especially Scully, he thought, watching his small
partner's tense face. Especially her. But of course he knew that if he
were to die, Scully would gather herself up like a snail into its shell,
and he rather liked her the way she was now: one cautious antennae
waving in the breeze. Ruefully he noted that he'd just have to live.
Even if it meant living with chickens.
The people of Clement, however, were not celebrating the life of a
beloved friend or relative. They were, in fact, celebrating nothing he
could quite put his finger on, except maybe the joy of celebration
itself. That wasn't so terrible, he thought, unless the need for
celebration created a need for something to celebrate, and that created?
he sighed. Even his muddled head decided that it would just be too
weird, and he knew Scully would never go for the theory that the people
of this town, this church, were willing death to come to them.
From across the room, he spotted Sally, weaving her way through drunken
adults toward them. She planted herself in front of him and smiled.
"Dance, Agent Muldurn?"
The music was slow and sexy. He groaned inwardly.
"Mulder," he said. "Um?"
Scully was looking at him, amused and triumphant. He shrugged.
"Sally, I think Agent Scully has usurped you."
end part 4 of 7
TITLE: Poconos (5/7)
AUTHOR: Jess
EMAIL ADDRESS: snarkypup@hotmail.com
RATING: NC-17
Summary in Part One.
Email me, I'm so alone.
"Huh?" both women said in unison.
"Agent Scully here just asked me to dance, so I'll have to pass."
Sally looked a bit crestfallen, but then smiled. "All right. Next one,
then."
As she left, Scully smiled shyly. "Next dance or next funeral, do you
think?"
He simply held out his arm and swept her up. Swinging her around to the
dance floor felt wonderful. She laughed, caught in the motion of it, and
he grinned down at her. After the Great Mutato, dancing with her,
looking into her eyes, heart pounding? Remembering the reunion in
Kansas, he thought how close he and Scully had come to dancing several
times, but something about that night? it had been too dangerous, too
showy. It was no different now, he knew, but he was rebelling against
constraints, against danger. He wanted to pick Scully up, throw her over
his shoulder and demand to see her in that mysterious bikini..
"You dance, you sing? Mulder, tell me your Star Search days aren't
over."
Pulling her up short so that she fell gently against him, he whispered
in her ear.
"I'm claiming my reward, right now."
Her body stiffened for just a moment and then, like heavy liquid, she
seemed to flow into his seams.
"All right." Breathy and hushed against his chest. "Slow dance?"
"The slowest," he sighed into her hair.
For a moment they were still, barely rasping against one another. Then,
suddenly, he felt her decision. She began to move, small arms snaking
around his neck, soft hips and stomach rubbing just below his. He
stifled a gasp at the intimate way her legs slipped between his own.
"Scully," he murmured.
"Mmm," was all she replied. Turning her head, she rested her nose on his
collarbone, her lips warm through the thin fabric of his summer-weight
button-down. He knew then that he was melting like hot butter, pouring
over her, coating her.
"Scully?" Desperately searching for some way to reach her, some way to
appeal without destroying the tenuous thread. "? you smell good. Like
cotton candy."
It was the best he could do, but it felt like nothing. She sighed, a hot
little puff by his tie.
"Vanilla," she said softly. "It's vanilla perfume."
He nodded and pulled her closer, seeking more of her, sliding his hands
up under the stiff shell of her jacket to feel the sweat-soaked shirt on
her back. The damp coolness of it nearly undid him and he felt himself
growing hard against her.
For a long moment he debated. Should he pull away? What would she think?
She made the decision for him.
"God, Mulder," she whispered, her voice warm and drowsy, "It's so hot."
He knew she meant literally, but he was gone, pressing into her hip,
grinding against her, into her. Her response was unexpected. She pulled
his head close and whispered to him.
"Let's go get wet."
He froze. He knew what she meant, of course, but was she really
proposing this, now? His mind spun and he felt almost sick with desire.
"Scully," he croaked. "Where?"
She laughed, gutteral and sexy. "At the lake, of course."
He closed his eyes.
"Skinny dipping?"
"Not during the day," she whispered. "Maybe at night."
It was too much. He actually groaned and felt her giggle rise through
his chest straight to his brain like champagne.
"Scully." He could only say her name, he was so in awe of her.
She pulled back and looked slowly down his body to the strained material
of his pants and back up to his eyes.
"It looks," she said, licking her lips slightly, "like you could stand
to cool off."
If he could have pooled at her feet in a small puddle of spit, he would
have. Twice in one day.
"Mr. Mulder, Miss Scully?"
The voice came from just behind him, and was clearly local. Mulder felt
the sudden dowsing of his passions.
"Yes?" He turned slowly, hoping to intimidate the hell out of whomever
was standing there. A small white-haired man stood somber in the midst
of the dancing and revelry, holding a battered black hat in his hands.
"I was hoping I could talk to you both, privately."
Mulder glanced at Scully. Her annoyance was obvious. Then, like the
well-trained agent she was, he watched as she slicked down her desire
and became? interested.
"Certainly. Do you have somewhere we can go?" Her face was slightly
pink.
Scully brushed the wrinkled back of her suit jacket down and together
they followed the old man into a small vestibule off the main room. He
wondered if she could sense his desperation, reaching out to her like
the tentacles of some strange sea creature; an octopus of need and
insecurity.
The old man closed the door and smiled.
"You two sure don't seem like FBI. I grew up in the age of J. Edgar, and
back then, G-men didn't dance. At least, not in public."
Scully smiled and Mulder saw the tension in the set of her teeth. She
was embarrassed, and possibly ashamed. He felt as if his body had just
been kicked.
"What can we help you with?" Mulder asked, hoping to get away from the
subject.
"Well, you can't help me, much. But I'll bet I can help you two." The
old man patted Scully's shoulder and smiled at them both, as if he'd
just given them a gift.
"Shoot," Scully said, and Mulder could feel how much she wanted to
leave, to get away from him. Her footing had slipped, for just a moment,
and now she wanted to be back on familiar ground.
"I don't know how much you folks know about ancient Indian myths, but
I'm sure you've heard the legends about this area, about its power."
Mulder nodded. Familiar ground indeed.
"Zones of magnetic convergence?" Scully said, her voice like ice water.
"Exactly. Now, you may or may not believe in that sort of thing. I don't
know. I know I've lived here all my life and you'd better bet I do
believe. I've seen things happen that are just unexplainable any other
way. So here's the deal?" The little man leaned closer to them both and
lowered his voice. Mulder found himself leaning over Scully's shoulder,
breathing in that sugar scent of her. Somewhere underneath the sweetness
of the perfume, he smelled a tang, like lemon. Scully herself. "These
people, whether they are doing it consciously or not, are messing with
forces they don't understand. They are calling forth an evil in order to
have a little fun, and I for one, am tired of it. No one has a right to
do that."
"I don't understand," Scully said. "Are you saying that the people in
this church are causing people to die just so they can attend a
funeral?"
The little man shook his head. "No no, they aren't quite that shallow.
They're causing people to die so that they can help one another. They're
giving each other something to do. A house to paint for a widow, kids to
look after, people to fuss and fawn over. I don't think they know
they're doing it. But they are, and it should be stopped."
Mulder thought about this for a moment.
"How does it happen?" he asked. "Is it a build-up of energy, what?"
"How the hell should I know?" the little man snorted. "I'm no scientist.
But I've seen this sort of thing from time to time over the years."
"So how do we stop it?"
The old man shrugged. "Bring down the church, of course."
Mulder felt a bit a chill, as if a window had been opened somewhere.
Then he heard Scully's voice beside him.
"Are you all right?"
The old man shook his head, his face rapidly turning a strange shade of
purple. Mulder was able to reach out and catch him just in time to lower
him gently to the ground. He gasped and pulled at his collar. Dropping
beside him, Scully pushed Mulder aside and began to unbutton the old
man's shirt.
"Mulder, call 911," she said. "Tell them we've got someone in cardiac
arrest. Sir, you're going to be fine, just try to stay calm."
The old man looked briefly at Mulder, a strange mixture of regret and
acceptance on his face. Mulder watched as his pale blue eyes rolled
slowly back.
Scully was silent, sitting with a strange stiffness on the edge of the
now-still bed. Pulling at her sticky shirt, she let a wave of nausea
pass through her. This feeling, the feelings of the morning? they all
felt unlike her, strange and heavy, like swimming in molasses. She was
sure she was going to pass out.
The room was blistering. No cool breeze had ever blown here. Rising, she
stripped off her jacket and unbuttoned her blouse a bit. Right now, if
that old man had never appeared, they might be soaking in the blood-warm
waters of the lake. Maybe Mulder would lose some of his respect for her,
but at least she wouldn't be able to feel little rivers of sweat running
down her sides to dampen her waistband.
There was a gentle knock on the connecting door. She groaned inwardly.
"Hey," Mulder said, poking his head around the door. He seemed as
awkward as she felt.
"Hey," she said back, barely managing a small smile.
He slid into the room, his large size suddenly striking to her. He
filled her vision.
"So, what do you think of our dead informant? Quite a coincidence, eh?"
So he was going to talk about the case. That was something at least.
"No, Mulder. He was at least seventy-five years-old. He died of a heart
attack. That's all."
"So you don't think it's odd that he died right after telling us to
destroy the church?" He sat down next to her on the bed, a good two feet
away. It was unlike Mulder to respect her personal space. She felt
suddenly dizzy.
"Maybe," she said, feeling the bed sway beneath her.
"Scully?" He looked concerned. "Are you ok?"
"I'm really warm," she murmured. "I think I need to lie down."
He nodded and then did something she would never have expected. Standing
in front of her, he began to gently unbutton her shirt.
"Mulder," she tried to swat his hand away, but another wave of dizziness
overtook her. "What are you doing?"
"Getting you ready for bed," he said, with no trace of a tease in his
tone. "You're clearly suffering from heat exhaustion."
His hands popped the final button and he eased the shirt back from her
shoulders and off her arms. She had an irrational urge to cover her
breasts, though she was still wearing her bra, and though heaven knew he
had seen them before.
"You should take a cool bath," he whispered. "Your skin is flushed."
She looked up and met his gaze. He was looking at her with such
affection she nearly began to cry. Confusion had exhausted her last
resources.
"Oh Mulder," she sighed. "It's been such a long day and I'm so tired?"
"Rest then," he said softly, caressing her cheek. "I'll get your pajamas
and you can crawl into bed."
She nodded and waited while he opened her suitcase. He held up a pair of
blue satin pajamas and she felt their sweltering fabric against her skin
like the ghost of nights past. "No Mulder," she said. "Too hot. Do you
have a plain cotton t-shirt I could borrow?"
He smiled. "Scully, do you know what the suggestion of you in my t-shirt
does to me?"
He was only half-joking, she knew. Without the energy to banter, she
simply shook her head. He seemed immediately guilty for teasing her.
"I'll go get it right now, ok?"
She smiled weakly as he left the room. Her abdomen gave a sickening
twinge of pain, but she was too hot and tired to think about it.
Outside, the hum of insects and the barely working air-conditioner grew
suddenly softer. She turned to the window and felt the world go black
around her.
Mulder paced the room anxiously. The doctor was taking a very long time
in there. When he had returned to find Scully passed-out on the bed, he
was sure his heart had actually stopped beating. Lying there, her arms
splayed out beside her, she looked so much like the time she had gone
into anaphylactic shock that he rushed to her side expecting to hear
each breath come out through a closing throat. Instead he'd found that
she'd fainted, no doubt from her fever.
The bedroom door opened and he could see her, propped up on pillows, her
face still flushed, but awake and aware. He sighed with relief. The
doctor smiled.
"She's going to be fine."
Mulder nodded. He knew it already, just by seeing her face.
"What happened?"
The doctor was scribbling something on a pad, a prescription.
"She's got a nasty kidney infection. They can do that, creep up on you
from nowhere. I'm writing out something for an antibiotic. They can fill
it down town. Make sure she takes it for the full seven days. Doctors
make the worst patients."
Mulder nodded, accepting the little paper and attempting in vain to
decipher the scrawl.
"Oh and?" the doctor leaned forward, "?no sex for a couple days. It can
make the situation worse."
Swallowing a sudden need to laugh hysterically, Mulder smiled. "I don't
think that'll be an issue. She's my partner."
The doctor looked at him blankly.
"We're FBI. She's my work partner."
Nodding, the doctor smiled back. "Well, I would have warned you anyway?
wait a minute, you said you two are the FBI? Jesus, why didn't you tell
me?"
Mulder stared, unsure of why this would be important.
"You've got to get her out of here," the doctor said, urgent.
From behind the door, Mulder could see Scully's head lift a bit, trying
to hear what was going on.
"What are you talking about?" he asked.
"There are people in this town? look, they'll kill her if she stays."
From the bedroom, Scully's voice called out, raspy and weak.
"What are you implying, Doctor Rells? This is just a kidney infection.
Forty-eight hours on antibiotics and I should feel great."
"No, no?" the doctor paced, looking at each of them. "That's what I
would have said had you just been some honeymooning couple, but this?
there are people here who would stop at nothing to get you folks out of
town. I know, I've talked to some of them."
"Are you saying someone in town gave me a kidney infection? How is that
possible?" Scully was sitting up now, her interest piqued. Mulder
smothered the urge to push her back down.
"The same way it's possible they gave old John Crowler a heart attack.
The same way they killed Albert McGillicudy. Around here, you need only
to want something bad enough, and you'll get it. Good or bad. At least,
that's how I've always explained it to myself. Not that that's much of
an explanation."
"So?" Scully was pondering it, mulling it over, "? as a woman, I'm
susceptible to kidney infections. And if they were in some way
exacerbating existing medical conditions?"
"Yes," the doctor said, excited, "exactly. The energy they produce acts
on your body, I don't know how, but hell, I don't know how aspirin works
either. Somehow they're raising the level of bacteria in your kidneys,
causing them to multiply out of control."
"This is crazy," Scully said and the doctor's face fell. "Kidney
infections, heart attacks? these are all things that happen everywhere.
There's nothing strange about them."
"Look, I'm just trying to warn you. I can't be responsible for what
happens if you stay here. This thing may not go away. It may get worse.
And you saw how fast it came on?"
"Kidney infections are notorious for that," Scully interrupted. "It
doesn't prove anything."
Mulder sat down next to her on the bed, watching her fever-bright eyes
and seeing the determination there.
"I tell you what," he said. "I'm going to go get this prescription
filled. If you don't feel better in twenty-four hours, we're out of
here. That fair?"
The doctor and Scully nodded in unison, making Mulder smile. She would
have made a hell of a practitioner.
end part 5 of 7
TITLE: Poconos (6/7)
AUTHOR: Jess
EMAIL ADDRESS: snarkypup@hotmail.com
RATING: NC-17
Summary in Part One.
Email me, I'm in desperate need of friends.
Mulder watched her as she swallowed her first pills, hovering like a
mother. She smiled at him. Two aspirin and a couple hours after her
initial fainting spell, she felt cooler. He perched beside her, one arm
extending over her hips to support him close to her.
"There, see?" she said, sticking out her tongue so he could see she'd
swallowed the pills. He blushed slightly and she was suddenly warm
again.
"I see," he said. "I'm glad you're going to be cooperative. I'd hate to
have to pin you down and ram them down your throat."
"I'd like to see you try."
For a moment they stared at one another, then he shifted away.
"You ready for bed?"
She had not thought about how late it was, how long the day had been,
especially for him. Mulder suffered when she was ill, almost more than
she did. Exhaustion colored his cheeks and ringed his eyes.
"Yes," she said. And then she realized, with startling clarity, that she
didn't want him to go. She shivered with the potential loss. Seeing it,
Mulder leaned closer and pressed the back of his hand against her
forehead. Gently, she pressed back, turning the simple gesture of
concern into a caress. Hand cool against her head, he smiled at her.
"Still feverish," he whispered. His face was so close, she could inhale
his breath.
"I know, but I'm freezing. I can't get warm."
He was still there, inches from her face. "What would make you feel
better, Dana?"
The use of her first name made her heart pound. It was so intimate. She
could remember the first time he had ever used it, when her father had
died. Though at the time it had felt somewhat patronizing, she knew now
that it was Mulder's way of expressing his feelings, of letting her know
that he cared for her.
"You, wrapped around me."
It must have been the fever. Before the words were completed, she
regretted actually voicing them. She felt her own eyes grow round with
horror and shock, but Mulder seemed to be taking things in stride. He
touched her forehead again and smiled.
"Agent Scully, I do believe you're proposing a cuddle. Isn't that
against bureau regulations?"
She nodded, relief making her slump back against the pillows.
"Of course," he said, lowering himself to lie next to her. "We've never
been much for bureau regulations."
Morning crept in around the curtains accompanied by birdsong and the
sweet smell of mowed grass. Mulder couldn't believe he was actually
lying in bed with her at her own invitation. As if it couldn't get any
better, she was wearing nothing but his t-shirt and a pair of cotton
panties. He had to keep adjusting himself so that she wouldn't feel his
erection pressing firmly against her body. Though it hadn't worked the
night before, he thought with a smile.
She was no longer burning up. Asleep but restless, she wiggled against
him, causing hot little shivers to slide up his body like fingers. It
was all he could do not to groan.
"Cold," she whispered and he forgot the erection and pressed in tighter.
"Better?" he murmured somewhere in the vicinity of her ear.
"Mmm," she sighed and pulled his arm around her, resting his palm on her
breast. He almost moved away but then thought "damn the torpedoes" and
let his hand curve around her. She was warm and full and soft and
wonderful. Without thinking, he moved against her, enjoying the feeling
of her bare skin against his leg. Knowing he was taking advantage of her
didn't make him want to stop.
He felt her waking fully, coming into the light lazily, easily. For a
moment he lay perfectly still, knowing she would throw him off once she
was aware of the location of his hand. Sure enough, her shoulder
shrugged and he was gently evicted.
"Mulder," she said, her voice loud in the quiet room. "What the hell
were you doing?" She wasn't really angry, just going through the
motions. He had been the recipient of her anger often enough to
recognize it when he heard it.
"You tell me. You moved my hand there."
"I did not," she said, rolling over to face him. He smiled at her ruddy
face and slightly sweaty chest.
"Yes you did. Very distinctly, like that's exactly where you wanted it."
She was bright red. He felt like pushing her a bit, now that she was
with him again. "So, sunshine, you feeling better? 'Cause you sure felt
good to me."
Her jaw actually dropped and then she hit him, or rather slapped him, a
little harder than just playing. But then, what he'd said had taken it
beyond just playing. He grabbed her arm and held her there, feeling her
legs wrapped around his, her tension building.
"You seem to have regained your strength," he mused, watching her face
go from annoyed to a bit frightened and then tremendously aroused.
Mental note, he thought, Agent Scully likes to play a little rough.
"And my good sense," she said, her voice throaty. "Mulder, get out of my
bed."
He toyed with answering "with this raging hard-on, are you kidding?" but
resisted.
"Why?" That ought to provoke an interesting reaction.
"Because I said so. Because if you don't, I'm going to move my knee just
a little further up?" She demonstrated, sliding her leg up his until her
knee nudged his crotch. He couldn't help himself, he gave a low moan.
"I don't know that I'd mind that, given the right amount of pressure?"
She gaped again. "Jesus, Mulder," she said and sat up. "I'm getting up
now," she whispered, and he could hear the effort in her voice. "I'm
going to go take a shower and wash off all this sweat. From the fever."
He was frozen, unable to get over the fact that he had just completely
come on to her and she was walking away.
She shut the bathroom door and he thought he heard her sniffle. Jesus,
what the hell had he just done? Hadn't he made a vow to not behave like
an ass? And what was that maneuver with her breast, if not the behavior
of a first class jerk? The thought of having hurt Scully made him
actually physically sick. Bile rushed up his throat, burning.
His head began to pound, a distant rumble. He pressed his hands to his
ears. Everything had been crazy since they'd arrived here. Their need
for each other, usually close to the surface, had burst through and was
threatening to devour them. He couldn't understand it. They had always
been so easy with each other. Never like this.
The rumbling grew louder, drowning out his thoughts. It was only then
that he realized it wasn't in his head. It was coming from the bathroom.
Without hesitation, he launched himself at the door, just in time to
have Scully throw it open herself and stagger into him.
"Mulder," she said sharply, "the hot tub!"
In front of him, the giant Plexiglas form shivered and shook,
experiencing its own private earthquake. Grabbing her arm, Mulder pulled
Scully down behind the bed, covering her body with his. The champagne
glass gave another agonized groan and he felt it begin to fall, the
reverberation as it hit knocking him flat against Scully's back. Shards
of Plexiglas rained down around them.
"Christ!" Mulder swore, standing up slowly, trying not to step on
anything sharp. "You could've been killed."
Scully's face was pale, but she seemed to have collected herself.
"I'm all right," she said, running her hands quickly through her hair to
be sure.
"What the hell happened?"
"I don't know. I was standing there, getting ready to shower and that
thing just started shaking."
"I'm sorry, Scully."
She stared at him. "For what?"
He felt ridiculous, great chunks of hot tub littered around him.
"For earlier. I don't know what's gotten into me. Something about this
place? I was out of line and I'm sorry."
Smiling, she stood up and brushed the fine filaments of the hot tub's
destruction off her legs. "Mulder, we've both been affected by this
case, I don't know why. Let's just call it a draw and forget about it,
ok?"
He had no idea if that was actually achievable, but he nodded. Forget
the feel of her breast, forget the way she moved against him at the
wake, forget the round heat of her small bottom pressed up against him.
Only the knock on the door made him realize they were both standing in
the middle of the destroyed bedroom in their underwear, staring at each
other like horny teenagers.
"Hey, FBI," a voice called. "You ok in there?"
Scully swallowed another round of pills and then moved gingerly past the
toilet. She didn't even want to think about peeing today. The burning
was almost unbearable. Other than that, most of the effects of the
infection seemed to have passed.
Poor Mulder. This seemed to be harder for him than her, as always. She
knew he was close to giving into his emotions, scuttling six years of
well-worn stability. And she wanted it to happen, but she wanted it to
happen when they were whole and prepared. And preferably when there were
no strange shape-shifters or virus-carrying bees. One of these days, she
thought with a sad smile, I'll make up my damn mind and just do it.
Mulder was sitting sheepishly on the edge of the bed in their new cabin,
the only bed in their new cabin. She sighed.
"It's all I've got. The others are all out of commission, for one reason
or another," Bill had said. "I don't know what the hell happened with
that tub. Damndest thing I ever seen."
"We've seen damndester things," Mulder had said, butchering the words
without his trademark glee.
Now he was pouting, feeling guilty and rejected at the same time, a
potent combination. She sat beside him to slip on her shoes, allowing
their shoulders to touch. There were times she felt like a shepherd,
leading her wary and yet eager little sheep over to the safety of her
grassy pasture.
"Mulder, stop moping and put your shoes on. I've about had it with this
church and I'm in the mood to do something about it."
He nodded, still miserable. "Like what?"
She stood and straightened her skirt.
"I don't know. But I'm tired of all of this. Do you remember when we
first got here, I said I just wanted one clear week?"
"Yeah." Choked with unhappiness. She pondered just kissing him and
getting it over with. The thought was tremendously tempting, but she
held back. Not yet.
"Well, we have four and a half days left and I intend to spend them
swimming, eating and?" she hesitated, watching his weary face, "?
cuddling."
His head shot up, his eyes brightened and she thought she saw a
mischievous gleam return.
"Agent Scully, do you realize how inappropriate that remark just was? If
I told Skinner?"
"Mulder," she sighed. "If you told Skinner, I would have you committed.
Immediately. Now let's go kick some Baptist butt."
Pulling into the parking lot at the First Baptist Church of Clement, it
was immediately apparent that things were brewing. Cars filled every
space; double-parked along one side and spilled out onto the street.
Mulder cursed and double-parked behind the Cadillac in the space marked
"Reverend".
"What the hell is it with these people? Did someone else suddenly die?
Do they just get together to annoy me?"
Scully sighed beside him. She was being unusually tender to him,
stroking his hand lightly on the drive over, soothing his guilt-ridden
feathers. And intriguing some other part of him, the part he was now
readjusting his pants to cover.
"I'm sure it's all part of a global conspiracy to keep us in Clement for
the rest of our lives," she replied.
"The Consortium has finally gotten clever," Mulder muttered under his
breath. "I never would have seen this one coming."
"Could be worse," she said, stepping out and crossing to meet him.
"Could be Comity."
Mulder groaned. So much for any arousal.
Pausing at the double doors to the church, Mulder turned to stare at
Scully for a moment. She was gazing up at him with that strange mixture
of amusement and affection she'd had on her face all day. He slid one
hand along her cheek and thought, just for a moment, that it didn't
matter if they never had sex, as long as she'd continue to sometimes
adore him.
She grinned and squeezed the hand as it left her face.
"Let's make like Walt Disney and annoy some Baptists, Mulder."
"The Happiest Place on Earth, Scully."
And together they opened the doors.
End part 6 of 7
TITLE: Poconos (7/7)
AUTHOR: Jess
EMAIL ADDRESS: snarkypup@hotmail.com
RATING: NC-17
Summary in Part One.
Desperate plea for attention at end of story.
The entire town was gathered inside, filling the pews and lining the
walls in a solemn procession of crossed arms and bowed heads. The
general buzz of grumbling rumbled beneath the hum of the air
conditioner.
At the pulpit, clearly enraged, stood Doctor Rells.
"You have to listen to me," he was shouting. "This nonsense has got to
stop! We have no right to take the lives of others, even if it isn't
intentional." Spotting Mulder and Scully standing against the back wall,
he gestured to them with a nod. "And sometimes even if it is. These
people are not our enemies. If the people of this community were being
murdered by a stranger's hand, we would welcome their investigation. No,
we have become our own enemies and I for one refuse to continue. This is
not God's work."
The preacher stepped forward and smiled weakly at the congregation.
"Brother Rells, you are mistaken. There is nothing to fear in this
congregation."
"How can you stand in the sight of God and blatantly lie, Reverend? We
have been doing this to one another in some form for as long as any of
us can remember. And it has to stop."
Mulder leaned over and whispered to Scully.
"I wonder how long it'll be before the good doctor suddenly develops a
heart condition."
Scully sighed and shook her head. "Don't even think it, Mulder. Not
here."
From the audience, a woman stood. Mulder recognized her as the woman
from the path to the lake.
"I agree with Brother Rells. We have a responsibility to one another.
How long does this have to go on before we begin to kill each other?"
There was a frantic murmuring from the congregation and the Reverend
lifted his hands to shush them.
"Sister Hastings," the preacher smiled. "You know I would never condone
violence."
"But you have," she replied. "By telling us to defend this church, you
have asked us to hate, and that's the beginning of violence."
Another man stood beside her.
"Anne," he said, "I've known you since we were kids. But this isn't
about hate. This is about people coming together in a tragedy."
"The hell it is, John."
For a moment the two just stared at one another, eye to eye. The whole
church seemed to buzz with tension.
"What exactly are we all being accused of here?" the Reverend asked
loudly. "Are you saying that these people, these friends and neighbors
you have known your entire lives, that these people are cold blooded
killers? Capable of taking a life just to give themselves something to
do?"
Anne Hastings looked from the man in front of her to the faces of the
people seated around the suddenly quiet church. Her face twisted into an
expression so filled with remorse and anguish that it made Mulder's
heart ache just to watch.
"Yes," she said softly. "Yes. That's what I'm saying. And so is Brother
Rells. And so are many other people, too afraid of retribution to step
forward."
From the pew behind her, another woman rose.
"I'm not afraid. I agree with Sister Hastings."
"So do I." It was the waitress from the Country Bumpkin.
"You're crazy!" an old man yelled from across the room.
Mulder stared in fascination as one by one, the citizens of Clement
began to take sides. The energy in the room had taken on a thickness, a
wild, animal feeling approaching riotous. He looked for a moment to
Scully, her face impassive, a pale, calm spot in the center of the
growing storm.
From above them, a distant rumble, like thunder on a clear day.
There was no need to discuss it. Over the pounding voices, the growing
rumbling of an angry god or magnetic force or weather anomaly was like a
sudden road sign. Scully took his hand and willingly followed him out of
the church.
"Don't look back," she said as they crossed the parking lot, both aware
of the ominous thunderheads gathering over the center of town.
"Why?" Mulder cracked, obeying her instinctively. "Think I'll turn into
a pillar of salt?"
"There but for the grace of God," Scully said as she fastened her
seatbelt and they pulled screeching onto the road. From behind them, the
first sounds of the church's collapse could be heard: the crash of a
fallen beam, the wail of twisting metal.
He glanced over when he heard her start to dial her cel phone.
"Who're you calling?"
"Local paramedics," Scully answered. "Bet this'll finally give them
something to do."
Bill was nowhere to be found when they pulled into the motel. In eerie
silence, they packed the last few items back into their bags. Scully
lifted her bikini and eyed it sadly.
"I really would have liked to enjoy some of the countryside before we
left," she said to no one in particular, as Mulder had disappeared into
the bathroom. Outside the heat had broken a bit and the soft swell of
the white curtain promised breezes like a child's kiss. She sat on the
edge of the bed and stared at the gently swaying wall of green leaves
and branches.
It was in that moment that she realized she believed. Not in the power
of this place to kill or sooth, but in the power to make a wish come
clear into the bright light of day as if it were illuminated by the sun.
She wanted something, wanted it so badly that for years she had cowered
in fear before it, afraid it would overwhelm her if she dragged it out
and examined it.
The sun was setting outside; pink and orange tinted light settled across
the floor at her feet like a carpet. Well, she thought, it'll be dark
soon. And then I can examine it to my heart's content.
The door to the bathroom opened and Mulder stepped out, carrying his
little travel case of toothpaste and ear swabs. He looked befuddled and
exhausted. Rising, she took his hand.
"Mulder, what say we spend one more night here?"
His eyes widened. "And risk death by hot tub, Scully?"
"Actually," she said, turning back to the dancing tapestry of light
shimmering on the pale wooden floor. "I was thinking of risking death by
drowning, instead."
She felt his mind working, stumbling around her words.
"Swim?" he said.
Facing him, she said softly "skinny dip."
Mulder's face was an unbelieving combination of fear and delight. Behind
him, she could almost make out the shadowy figure of her fears, but then
Mulder stepped up to her and all that lingered in his place was the
watery color of the sunset.
"No bikini? I'm almost disappointed."
"Don't push your luck, Mulder," she said firmly, not wanting him to
think she had in some way lost her control.
For a moment they were still, aware of the heat between them in the cool
air of the approaching night.
"Race you," she whispered, and scampered out the door toward the
illumination of everything she'd ever wanted.
Mulder watched as Scully pulled her tank top recklessly over her head.
She had her back to him, and in the dying evening she shimmered like a
star, white-gold and slowly burning. Without thinking, he mimicked her
actions, stripping his own shirt off and pulling at his shoes.
He had waited a lifetime for this moment, he was sure, and now here it
was like a brilliantly clear summer day in the midst of the
firefly-glazed darkness. She unfastened her shorts and let them puddle
around her ankles, before stepping forward in nothing but her underwear
to face him.
Aware only distantly of his own hands jerking down his pants and
underwear, he stared at her slow wiggle as she removed the last of her
clothing. She was magnificent, fiery and pale at the same time, pulsing
with life.
"Scully," he admonished. "You aren't a natural redhead."
She laughed then, arms wrapped around her stomach for some protection
from his gaze.
"My God, Mulder, did you think all those changes in my hair color were
natural too?"
He shrugged. Her ever-changing hair seemed to be as real as her soft
skin and deep blue eyes.
"C'mon," she whispered. "The water's probably warmer than the air."
Together they dashed down the dock to sink into the weightless lake. He
watched her disappear beneath the black surface like someone sinking
beneath the sky. When she rose again, gasping and drenched, she was
laughing.
"It is warmer," she said and slid forward, seal-slick, twisting and
gliding past him. "Dunk yourself and stop shivering, you wimp."
He complied and found the shock somehow comforting. Under the surface,
he felt her hands grabbing at his waist, sliding over him.
Bursting up, he took in great gulps of the cool night air, filled with
the glimmering stars whirling over his head.
"My God, Scully," he shouted, feeling truly alive. "Look at the sky!"
She paddled next to him, her movements creating little eddies and
ripples around his skin.
"This is what we miss, living in the city," she said.
"This is what we miss by not living," he answered, turning to see her
bright eyes smiling at him just above the water line. He moved toward
her, expecting her to stay put, but she rolled up onto her back, breasts
bobbing white and molten. With a push of her small feet on his belly,
she was off, moving through the water like the sailor's daughter she
was, swift and strong. She was so beautiful in that moment, he was sure
he was being seduced by a sprite, by a silkie, by anything as unreal as
her moon-cream skin.
He couldn't help but follow.
"Mulder," she called, just out of reach in the obsidian water, "we
should have done this years ago."
He was not sure what she meant by that. That they should have gone
swimming together naked?
"Done what?" he asked, feeling awkward and massive next to her dolphin
movements.
"Celebrated everything in the world," she said and he realized she was
giddy with the pleasure of it. She stopped swimming and floated next to
him on her back, her nipples tight in the cool air above the warm water.
He floated next to her, staring at the dazzling shivering stars with her
hand in his. They kicked gently, travelling around the lake with no
particular destination.
She squeezed his hand and then suddenly she was gone, beneath him.
Before he could react, she rose beside him, her small hands supporting
his lower back.
"I'm holding you up," she whispered. "Isn't that the most amazing
thing?"
"Not to me," he answered tenderly. "I've been light as a feather ever
since the first time you touched me, Scully."
Letting his legs sink, he found they were in relatively shallow water.
If he stood on tiptoe, he could rest there. She paddled in front of him,
busily moving to keep her head up.
"Let me support you," he murmured and pulled her wriggling body into his
arms and up till her eyes were level with his.
"You always do," she said and grinned, then looked again up to the
stars. "It's like being in space," she said as he kissed her neck.
The skin tasted like lake water and lemon, like Scully. He couldn't help
himself, he was gone. The feel of her naked body against him, the taste
of her skin? he was rubbing against her, lavishing her neck with his
tongue.
Then she wrapped her legs around his waist and he felt the core of her,
hot against him. It was strange, even with their height difference, how
well it worked to hold her. Then it occurred to him, as she ground
against him, that it was only in their legs that they differed. Their
bodies were essentially the same size. He moaned into her neck and she
lowered her head to let him kiss her.
For one long moment, he was aware of nothing more than the heat of
Scully's mouth, her tongue, her lips. Then he slid his hand over her
soft breasts, down the path of her hip and felt where their bodies
touched. Sliding one finger into her, he noted that she was as liquid as
the lake. He moved up and felt her moan into his mouth, felt her hips
move. Slipping his fingers along her, he felt her shudder and then gasp.
Without warning, she reached between them, grabbed his hand and shoved
two fingers inside. She was pulsing around him, writhing. All he could
think was that he had made her come, but he had barely touched her. How
long had she been waiting? How much had she wanted him? He had wanted
her for so long, longed for this, that it was emotionally overwhelming
to finally have it. When she drew away for air, he crushed her to him,
holding her behind her head, gasping with desire.
"Mulder," she whispered into his ear, "it's ok. Now is the time."
"I know," he answered, feeling like his lungs were deflating by the
second. "I just? I just love you too much."
She laughed. "Too much for what?"
That brought him around, hearing her breathy voice, giggling. Too much
for what indeed?
"Not too much for this, I hope," she whispered and drawing herself up,
she lowered slowly onto him, sliding around him like a sheath.
It was totally unexpected. He hadn't thought, coming down here, that
they would make love. Frankly, he had gone without for so long that it
hadn't even occurred to him that the possibility existed. He was
immediately groaning, clutching at her, unable to process the sensation
of being in her.
She kissed him passionately, her arms around his shoulders, her body as
smooth as the water. She was humming with lust.
"Scully," he sighed. "Scully, don't you want??" But he couldn't finish.
She was rising and falling like a wave, pulling him along.
"I want you," was all she said.
And then they were silent, letting the gasping thickness of their motion
catch and hold them. He could feel his orgasm starting in his stomach
like a hunger. Lapping at him, tugging him, she let him thrust into her.
Scully let him thrust into her. The thought was too much for him and he
collided with it, turned it over in his screaming brain and fell into it
like the softness of a bed. She was making love to him, in the warm
water of the night. Hearing her voice in his head, "like space". How
fitting. He came in a series of heavy movements, pushing up into her as
deeply as the relative lack of gravity would allow.
She rested in his arms, as light as oxygen.
"Scully," he whispered warmly, feeling her tighten around him at the
sound of his voice. "Do you realize this is the second time in only a
few days I have seen you naked and very wet?"
end part 7 of 7
Email away! I recite them aloud like the poetry they are....